


i picture it soft, and i ache

by asphodellic



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F!Byleth, F/M, Introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-07 22:41:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20317198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asphodellic/pseuds/asphodellic
Summary: He’s still coming to terms with the idea that he can have this, that he can deserve this, and the world won’t come crashing down around them.





	i picture it soft, and i ache

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, look, it's my first real fic in like 4 years. What can I say, Three Houses has consumed me. Here's some soft Dima/Byleth because I was noticing that F!Byleth has amazing tits, and Dimitri would have noticed, too. Title from "Strawberry Blonde" by Mitski, of course.
> 
> Come yell about the game with me on [twitter!](https://twitter.com/asphodellic)

His eye burns with tiredness, but he’s nearly there. Just a few more pages of this report, and he can put the whole sheaf of papers aside and go to bed. It’s five years and some months overdue, his attention to the details of his kingdom and the toll this war is having on it, and he meant it when he said he was going to make it right. Even if it means sleepless nights and reading the same words over and over again to make sure he understands what’s being said. He owes them this, and so he won’t quit until he’s done.

Beside him in bed, Byleth sleeps. 

Her hair spills over the pillow, messy and green, and Dimitri, distracted by just how beautiful she is, pauses in his reading to brush a lock of hair back from her face, to trace the soft, gentle curve of her cheek and let his eye follow the line of her body down.

The sheets have slipped down at some point during the night, exposing her skin to the flickering light Dimitri has been reading by. It puts a glow on her neck and the tempting swell of her chest, and even though it hasn’t been two hours since he last hand his hands on her, he’s hungry for his beloved all over again. 

Her eyelids flutter open, and she makes a soft noise before looking right at him, like she can sense the line of his thoughts. 

“Dima? What time is it?” Her voice is sleep rough, and she ends her question with a yawn. 

“Late,” he answers. “Or early. I think I’ve lost track.” 

Byleth purses her lips. “Then why are you still awake?” 

“I had some reading to do.” He gestures with the stack of papers. 

“You’re overdoing it,” she says, as she’s said to him many times before. She’s no longer his professor, but she still watches him with that attentive eye, offering a guiding hand when she feels he needs it. 

He often does. 

She pushes herself to sit up, and the sheets fall down further, pooling in her lap. Dimitri can’t tear his gaze away from her body in the light. Soft, creamy skin, pale and scarred from countless battles. Light pools in the hollows of her collarbones, drawing the eye until it travels down to her chest again. 

Dimitri doesn’t want to be crass, but. She has amazing breasts. Full and pert, tipped with dusty pink nipples that seem to harden under his gaze. By now he knows what they taste like, and his mouth waters, wanting more. 

When he looks up, a blush colors her face, but she’s smiling, eyes bright. 

“I love it when you know what you want,” she says, reaching out to cup the side of his face. He doesn’t wear the eye patch to bed anymore, and her fingers go to the scars that cut right through where his right eye used to be. 

He doesn’t mind when she touches him there anymore. It used to make him flinch, horrified that someone like Byleth would touch someone like him. That she should have to look at his shame and tether herself to it. 

He’s still coming to terms with the idea that he can have this, that he can _deserve_ this, and the world won’t come crashing down around them. 

Dimitri leans into her touch, turning his head to press a kiss to her palm, and he smiles when she laughs softly. 

“Tell me what you want, Dimitri,” Byleth says, and there’s never been an easier question to answer. 

“You. Always you.” 

“And if I let you have it, will you be a good boy and go to bed afterwards?” Her tone is teasing, and he lifts one eyebrow in response. 

“I’ll think about it,” he says, and sets the papers aside. They’ve had enough of his attention for one night.

She's soft when he takes her into his arms and softer still when he kisses her, starting with her lips and then trailing down to her neck and shoulders. He finds a mound of scar tissue, a close call that he wasn't there for, and he works at it with his tongue and teeth, leaving his own mark there until Byleth is gasping and pressing insistently against him. 

He doesn't know how he could have ever thought her emotionless or cold. She's warm, so warm, in everything she does, every move she makes, every sound of pleasure he teases from her. 

His hands slide down her hips, fingers pressing into her skin. She smaller than him, and he's afraid of his own strength sometimes, but all the same he likes the bruises that he leaves behind for only them to see. Little marks of his place beside her, and hers in his heart that make him feel hot and possessive and  _ needy _ when he happens to catch sight of them. This is all still so new, but Dimitri goes on his intuition and listens when Byleth moans his name. 

She does so now, arching against him, and he presses her back to the bed, covering her body with his own. 

"Please," she gasps, legs spreading for him, and he can tell she's already wet. So responsive, so perfect. 

"What would you have me do?" he whispers against the shell of her ear, grinding down against her so she can feel through his thin pants that he's just as eager, just as desperate for her. 

"Touch me," Byleth begs. 

"Here?" Dimitri asks, setting a palm to her stomach.

" _ Dimitri _ ." 

He laughs and slides both hands up to cup her breasts. "Perhaps here?" He squeezes them lightly, delicate skin feeling even more fragile against the rough callouses on his palms. His thumbs flick over her nipples, and her breath catches. 

Unable to help himself, he dips his head and kisses each delectable mound and then sets his teeth into one, biting hard enough to leave a mark. 

Byleth sings for him, arching and twisting under him, so sensitive. His name has never sounded so good as it does tripping off her lips when she’s wrapped up in pleasure, and he never gets tired of hearing it. 

“More,” she gasps, and he bites again, harder, while grinding against her, practically rutting like an animal now. He’s so hard that the loose pants feel tight, and he wants nothing more than to sink into the slippery heat of her until they both lose themselves. 

And now it is his turn to beg. “Please,” he murmurs, lips moving against the skin of her breasts. “Please, Byleth. I need you.” 

Her hands smooth though his hair, and he glances up, focusing on her face with his one good eye. 

“Dimitri,” she says. “Always.” 

He huffs a soft, contented sigh, and reaches between their bodies to push his pants down enough to free his cock. It springs forth, fully hard, flushed and needy, and he rubs against her, sliding through her wetness, teasing them both. 

She’s so tight when he finally, finally pushes into her, the wet heat threatening to overwhelm him. 

He grits his teeth and keeps going, working his way into her until he’s fully sheathed inside, and they’re both breathing hard. 

Byleth clings to him, nails biting into the skin of his shoulders, but it’s a welcome pain, tethering him to this moment. 

It's so easy to lose himself in his regrets. To convince himself that this bliss isn’t something he deserves or should have. Things break in his hands, whether he wants them to or not, and Dimitri knows he’d never forgive himself if he broke Byleth. He looks at her, one good eye wild and little frantic, and she looks back, steady and sure, promising him that she’s stronger than she looks, and she trusts every part of him. 

It’s bliss, the relief he always feels, and he lets it carry him away while he works his hips, plunging into her hard and deep, rocking their bed against the wall and making her cry out his name again and again. 

Later, when they’re both sated, sticky, and slumped, he lays with his head on her chest, eyes closed. He catches his breath and resists the urge to purr like one of the many cats around the monastery when she pets his head. 

In the morning, there will be more meetings, more reports to read. His duties and the debts he owes will press down on him like weights on his chest, making it hard to breathe and harder to move. 

But for the moment, there’s just this. 

The full softness of Byleth’s chest, the steady rise and fall of her breathing, and strong, sure fingers carding through his hair. 


End file.
